


The Wolf and the Moon

by Mathissi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Laura, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Teen Wolf, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 22:31:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2890364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mathissi/pseuds/Mathissi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which stiles is the embodiment of the moon and when he meets Derek Hale they can’t quite tell why either is attracted to the other, they just know that they are. And they start as friends, but it doesn’t stay that way, and they spend one whole year in bliss with one another until....</p><p>“Maybe the wolf is in love with the moon, and each month, it cries for a love it will never touch.”</p><p>Based on an idea from: stilinski-familyfeels.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

 

The moment Stiles stepped out of his radiant, blue jeep, he could feel that this year was about to be different. Something in the air was different than the usual moldy-leaves smell that surrounded Beacon Hills High School throughout the fall season.

The tides are changing, he chuckled to himself, allowing a subtle grin to spread across his face, making his already unconventional features appear more awkward. But it was all in good fun. He could make all the jokes he wanted to himself; though, no one else could ever find out. He shook his head, over exaggerating the movements, then pushed forward into the throng of students, bustling and hustling with first day jitters. The mood was set at a dull tension, as everyone fumbled with their lockers (mostly freshman, if Stiles was honest with himself), and skittered away to their respective classrooms.

Stiles looked down at the piece of paper he had clasped between his long fingers, his class schedule printed in faded black - gray, really - ink. The first period of his schedule showed AP English, so he rolled his eyes and pulled his copy of Mythology of the Greeks and Romans from his bag. He had dog-eared the stories they had been assigned over the summer and pencil markings meshed with the pen scribbles of his second run through. Certainly, after the past summer, he had come to appreciate the validity of mythology, or at least the lessons that could be learned from the stories.

Over the past months, after Allison had died, Stiles had helped his friends grieve, each in their own ways. For Scott, it had always been the little things that had reminded him of Allison, such as her necklace. It was the process of removing those things and saying goodbye that allowed Scott to move on (not that he would ever forget the love of his life). And, in a way, helping Scott had helped Stiles realize that he needed to thin the piles of his mother’s items that had been segregated to the attic.

Through his purges, Stiles had uncovered something. His mother had kept journals. And when he said journals, he meant volumes after volumes of hand-written text, all spilling the warmth he had always associated with his mother. Claudia had written these journals as a sort of memoir, but also as a processing mechanism. She had battled her demons within these moleskin wrapped pages, telling her daily struggles and her yearly struggles. As Stiles read, he had discovered more and more about the woman he had only known for five years. Even when her entries grew shorter, the sicker she became, he read on. He read until she was no longer able to read.

That was when he found the final volume.  Stiles found one extra moleskin journal, in the piles of papers. The odd part was that there were no gaps in the journals, the entire story from beginning to bitter end was present. But still, it had to fit. And when Stiles first read the story, he thought it to be fiction.

It told the tale of a young woman, presumably one of Stiles’ ancestors, who had been blessed by the goddess Diana. As the goddess of the moon, Diana imparted the spirit of the moon within the woman. Unfortunately, Zeus did not like that Diana had given such power to the woman, so he commanded that the woman be tormented by demons. Yet Diana, the goddess of birth, blessed the woman with a child. When the woman died at a remarkably young age, her son was left to carry the spirit of the moon. And the spirit of the moon would continue its lineage.

Stiles had read, being interested at his mother’s attempt at fiction, but intrigue really struck when he reached the end. There was a census of sorts - though many gaps were present - which included the alleged names of the carriers of the moon spirit. Towards the end of the list, he found his mother’s name, followed by his own.

Originally he had discarded the information as mythology, but the more he researched, the more he discovered that there were truths to the concept of the ‘moon spirit’. There were entire religions and cults dedicated to the carrier of the moon spirit, devoted to the protection and support of the goals of the carrier. Slowly, Stiles began to believe the story his mother had left for him. In accepting his own story, Stiles felt a strong pull to the other mythologies that had been written.

He flipped to one of his favorites stories they had read, which was probably the most marked text in the book. It was the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice. He read their tragic love and estrangement with fascination, knowing he was never meant to have such luck in his life. It was not in his destiny, his fate, his future, his hopes… or his genes. There was little he could do to change his genes, and even if he could, Stiles knew he would never wish that. It was the little codons that made him unique. Well, that’s what he told himse

lf to keep his sob-story love life from creating a whirlpool of crippling depression.

When he stepped through the door to AP English, a beautifully tamed mane of fiery hair was strung in front of his face. Lydia Martin, goddess gracing us with her presence, wrapped her nimble arms around Stiles neck and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. Stiles hugged her back almost instinctively, knowing that this sort of open expression of friendship was a big step for Lydia. Ever since the death of her best friend, Allison, the year prior, Lydia had been struggling to maintain any relationships. Lydia’s natural reaction was to pull back from the world, but for some reason, she was able to stay in contact with Stiles.

He could not remember how many times she had called him, middle of the night, and they had sat there on the phone talking, or not. Sometimes she just needed to hear him breathing, to know that there was someone else out there. Lydia was strong, Stiles knew, but even she couldn’t manage to hold back the tears on some of those nights. They had only grown closer when Stiles had told her his secret. Of course, she had known, as was the knack of a banshee.

“Hello, beautiful,” Stiles smiled as Lydia pulled back from him, relinquishing his neck, “how’re you doing?”

“Perfect as ever,” she pursed her lips into a soft smile before spinning on her heel and returning to the seat she had claimed. The seat behind Lydia was still open, so Stiles swung his whole body down onto the plastic chair, making it creak. He earned himself an eyeroll from Lydia for that one. But he had received far too many of those eye rolls to make him change now.

Setting his bag on the floor by his feet, he pulled a notebook that contained his notes on  Mythology, Stiles leaned back in the familiar curve of the school chairs, leaning back to crack his back. When he righted himself, another hoard of people were flooding into the class, in tight packs of two or three, each one chattering about whatever gossip was popular in the moment. As they entered, Lydia spun around in her seat and looked right at Stiles,

“Did you hear?” She whisper-shouted, a semi-malicious glint in her eye making her red hair appear more like fire than ever before.

“Hear what, Lyds?” Stiles was confused, but he didn’t particularly find comfort in the look she was giving him. But she did not respond. Instead, she cocked her head a bit to the left, letting her face fall flat. It was the same look she got when something was about to happen; and usually it was something bad that was about to happen. Stiles was struck by a little moment of panic before Lydia’s face broke into the same, cool smile that she had worn before.

Again, without answering, she turned back and sat herself in her chair, crossing her legs in a confident, pleased way. Stiles’ confusion couldn’t be much higher; he leaned forward across his desk, picking the back legs off of the floor. He opened his mouth to ask her again, but his eyes drifted past her red mane, to the door, where a singular figure was awkwardly standing, looking very uncomfortable.

He had dark brown hair - or was it black? - and he was wearing a well fitting leather jacket. He was wearing a backpack and his skin was clear of blemishes, bearing a light scruff. Stiles felt his heart skip a beat when he let his mouth drop open. The boy was tall, but not too much taller than Stiles himself. When the boys green eyes reached Stiles (who was still shamelessly staring across the room), Stiles’ breath hitched, causing him to lean a little too far over his desk.

The crashing sound of the desk caused everyone in the room to stare at Stiles as he sat, spread across the floor, feeling small pieces of gravel digging into his palm. Lydia was still in her desk, shamelessly laughing at her friend, still sitting in her satisfied manner. Something made Stiles think that Lydia had totally known he was about to make a fool of himself. He gave her a stern glare from the floor, then he pushed himself up before his face could go from its pink-cheeked state to the dark crimson he knew was coming. As fluidly as humanly possible, Stiles righted his desk and planted himself in his seat.

Still grumbling, Stiles whispered to Lydia, “Who the hell is that? He doesn’t go here right?”

“New student, must be,” she whispered over her shoulder. “And no, he didn’t go here last year.” Lydia flipped her hair behind her shoulders and resumed her seat, looking toward the front of the classroom. Stiles sighed, knowing this embarrassment was no worse than anything he’d done in the other three years he’d been at Beacon Hills High, but he still wished he was less obvious about his awkwardness. It really doesn’t matter, Stiles shook his head, shaking off the redness that had blossomed across his face.

The boy, Stiles returned his attention to him in a more discreet way, was walking closer to him. There was a small smirk that graced the lips of that smug face, making Stiles want to trip the boy as he walked past (but he already knew he would chicken out). The boy continued to walk closer and Stiles was forced to avert his eyes, before the boy sat down in the seat next to Stiles. Stiles felt his face flare crimson again, providing more reason to not make eye contact.

The other man leaned across the aisle between desks and tapped Stiles’ desk, making a rap rap sound. Stiles jumped, his mind pulling away from his mortification, and he cricked his neck turning towards the other boy. Stiles’ hazel eyes were wide with intrigue, meeting the other boy’s brilliant green eyes, which - Stiles noticed - were flecked with hazel and gold, making them dance in light. The other boy leaned over a little, so he could whisper.

“Are you alright?” he whispered, sounding genuinely concerned for Stiles’ well being. Stiles felt his cheeks flare up again, as he rubbed his neck, smiling before replying, “Oh yeah, I’m kinda clumsy, so I tend to fall a lot of the time. It’s really bad because my dad says that I’m going to end up killing myself by falling down the stairs and he says I really need to be much more careful.” Lydia coughed extra loudly and Stiles noticed he was rambling, “But yeah, I’m all good!”

The other boy raised his prominent eyebrows in a questioning, but humorous way, making Stiles blush just a little bit more (as though that were possible). The other boy chuckled and the smirk returned to his face before he said, softly, “I’m Derek. Derek Hale.”

Stiles twitched at the name, remembering it from somewhere in his memory banks, but still unsure why it rang such a bell. “Stiles, Stiles Stilinski. It’s not my real name, but everyone has been calling me that for years.” Stiles bit his tongue because he could feel a rant about to come on. What the hell, Stiles! Get it together, he thought to himself as the color in his cheeks began to fail. Hale… Hale? Why do I recognize that name?!

“Nice to meet you, Stiles.” Derek whispered again as the teacher - Mr. Berens - stepped through the door and the bell chimed it’s obnoxious ring throughout the hallways. Stiles turned and faced Lydia’s hair, knowing all he was going to be thinking about was a pair of radiant green eyes.

The school day sped by quickly enough. Stiles ate lunch with Scott, Lydia, and Danny. It was a rather morbid affair. None of them had really expected to be able to feel the gap at the table, where Allison had sat. Unfortunately, the gap where their dark haired beauty had once laughed was a blank space, radiating emptiness. Most of them were silent through the meal, just trying to figure the best way to break the ice. In the silence, Stiles allowed his eyes to wander across the room, where he spotted Derek eating alone. He noted that for later, not really in the mood to make a new friend so soon.

When the school day was over, Stiles took his Jeep to the police station so he could visit his dad. When he walked in, he greeted the various deputies, and spent a minute talking to deputy Parrish before he went into his dad’s office. He found his dad munching on curly fries, which he promptly stole and began to eat. He earned himself a glare from his father before he started to speak.

“So, daddy-o,” he began and his father looked up, exasperated, knowing what was coming, “Why does the last name Hale sound so familiar to me?”

“Hale? As in Talia Hale? Why do you ask? The Sheriff dropped his face into an actually inquisitive expression.

“Aaaaah!” Stiles’ face flew wide, when realization hit him. “Talia Hale had kids didn’t she? And they didn’t die in the fire a few years ago, right?” Stiles didn’t wait for an answer as he continued. “Right, so her youngest kids were sent away to their Uncle’s. I remember this!”

“Stiles, wha-” The Sheriff tried to interject, failing miserably. As Stiles recounted how the oldest Hale child must have come of age and move the family back to Beacon Hills. After a while of the ranting, the Sheriff leaned back and smirked. He knew his son was far too inquisitive for his own good, but he was intelligent and deductive enough to figure out the news before there were even any reports.

The Sheriff knew that the Hale family had moved back. He had kept up with the eldest child, Laura, for years. He had felt some sort of responsibility for the three children - Laura, Derek, and Cora - as he had been so close with their mother because of her law firm. Laura Hale had contacted the Sheriff about two months ago, wondering if the Hale property had ever been sold. When she discovered that the property was technically owned by her when she turned eighteen, she had sounded happy. A week ago, Laura had called, asking where she could pick up the keys to the Hale House; the Sheriff happily handed them over.

Repairs had been made on the Hale house, just to keep it standing (the Sheriff had made sure that something was done), but there was still a large amount of work to be done before it would be returned to its former glory. Laura’s mother had plenty of money saved for them and the Sheriff had already had a meeting with the girl in order to help begin the renovation process.

She was wise for her young age, knowing more about life than the Sheriff felt she should, but she understood that it was important to have her family together, even though they had been broken apart by the fire, years ago. In the moment, the Sheriff wondered how the other children would adjust to the change of scenery; a light bulb began to flicker on in the Sheriff’s mind.

“Stiles, shut up!” The Sheriff half shouted in order to end his son’s rant, which was effective. “Yes, you’re right,” he started, putting up a front of parental sternness, “and why exactly are you asking about the Hale family?”

“There was this kid in my class, his name is Derek and -” the older man cut off his son before the ranting could resume.

“Right, and you best be kind to Laura Hale and her family, especially Derek. He hasn’t been here in years and he probably doesn’t have any friends, so if I find out that you’ve been rude to him, you’ll have to deal with me.” The Sheriff spoke sternly, trying to get his message across. He felt inadequate as a parent, using persuasion methods rather than just enforcing the law. “So, be his friend.” The Sheriff finished lamely.

“Right. Got it.” Stiles shoved another four fries into his mouth before he turned on his heel. As he swallowed, he called back at his father, “And we’re having SAAAAALAAAAD tomorrow night because you’ve been cheating on your diet!” The Sheriff groaned and rolled his eyes, thinking, You win some and lose some.

 

When Stiles got home, he found pages and pages about the mysterious Hale fire, and the family who had been left alive. There had only been three survivors from the fire, the three Hale kids, which was only because they had been at Beacon Hills Academy (the more private and prestigious education center in town). Their Uncle, Peter Hale, had taken them into his home up north in Portland and they had appeared to disappear from the map entirely.

Stiles even made the conscious choice to break the law and he logged into his father’s police account, looking for any sort of arrest records, juvenile delinquency or other misdemeanors from any of the three children. All he had found was a report of Peter Hale getting into a bar fight twenty-some years ago. When he closed his laptop, void of more research to conduct, Stiles felt dissatisfied with his results. So he called Lydia.

“No Stiles,” she said, matter of factly, “I will not go to the Hale house with you. That’s trespassing on private property and I don’t want your dad to hate me if I get arrested.”

“Lyds, my dad would never hate you! And you know that, he thinks you’re the best thing to happen in Beacon Hills since Bruce Springsteen’s tour bus broke down a block away from the station. And really, it’s not like we’re going into the house. We’re just going up to it.”

“I said, ‘no’, Stiles. I am going to do my AP Greek homework now, and you should probably write the essay due for AP English on Friday. So goodbye and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” There was a click as she hung up.

In a minorly passive aggressive fashion, Stiles grabbed the keys to his jeep and grabbed his jacket. The sun was about to set in the early fall hour, and the Sheriff didn’t get off of work until morning, so Stiles was able to be a little rebellious. He revved his jeep and sped down the road towards the Hale house. He knew the property well. He and Scott had used the open field at the top of the hill as a practice place for lacrosse in their freshman and sophomore years, so the drive felt warmingly nostalgic and familiar.

He parked on the side of the road, out of the way of any oncoming traffic at the bottom of the hill that lead up to the Hale house. Lydia was right, he realized. He didn’t want to be caught blatantly trespassing in the case that he was caught, and the jeep would be an obvious give away. So he began to walk up the hill, silently thanking years of lacrosse practices that had made such a treacherous hill much easier to climb.

As he reached the top of the hill, he found himself in the woods at the edge of field. He knew the Hale house was somewhere among those trees, but he was also certain that there were plenty of ways to get lost. He entered the woods becoming suddenly far more unsure about where he was going, and his subconscious was telling him to turn back. Something, he didn’t know what, was drawing him into the woods - so he did it.

Stiles walked for what felt like hours, hoping and wishing he were getting closer to the Hale house but honestly not knowing where he was in the woods. The sky progressively went from a brilliant orange to a deep purple and the temperature began to plummet, causing Stiles’ skin to shiver even through his jacket. He really had no choice, he was so far into the woods that he couldn’t discern in which direction his car was parked. He just hoped that he would come across the road through the property soon enough.

Damn it all, Lydia was right. He knew that he was dumb to go against the advice of a banshee, but Lydia had been known to go against her ears and even some things weren’t clear to her. There were definitely some things she couldn’t see or understand. And, unfortunately for Stiles, this was one of the times she was right. And there was a high possibility that Stiles was putting far too much insight into the banshee thing, rather than just listing this as Lydia’s common sense.

Cursing Lydia, Stiles was distracted from the path he was taking and his foot slipped off an edge of a decline. He dropped to the side, tumbling down a small decline into what appeared to be a pit. At the first touch of the water, Stiles lungs screamed, his entire body freezing up and making him cough, even though there was no water in his lungs. His body shivered as he pushed for the side, splashing in the water of the pond (which was surprisingly deep). Luckily, the water never pulled Stiles down, and it only supported him as he pushed out of the water.

His bones felt chilled and his dripping clothes weren’t much better at keeping him warm. He wrapped his arms around himself after pushing the hair from his face, and he tried to gain his bearings. As he whipped his head to and fro in search of some marker or direction, he heard the sounds of crackling twigs. He spun around, slipping on his wet shoes and falling to the ground.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Derek Hale said as he stepped from behind a withered old tree, gnarled with roots and markings. His face was stern, not angry like his voice sounded. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and puffed his cheeks out a bit. Stiles partially wanted to laugh at the attempt to be macho, but he realized that this could go south very quickly.

“I-ugh,” Stiles got to his feet, pushing himself up with the help of a tree. “I was practicing for lacrosse in the field over there.” Stiles aimed a point into the woods which was a complete guess as to where the actual field was. Derek pointed to the left as a method of correcting Stiles, who swung his arm to point correctly. “Right. So I ended up losing my ball in the woods and I followed it in here and -”

“You’re lying.” Derek cut him off, sick of listening to this pathetic story. “You’re here for some other reason, but I don’t really care. I only asked because you just fell into a pond.” Derek let his hands fall to his sides. Stiles noticed he was only wearing a thin, light purple henley, which seemed to be enough to keep him warm. “Anyway, are you okay?”

Stiles shivered and broke into a cheesy smile, trying to diffuse the remainder of the tension, “Oh yep, I’m great. I just gotta get back to my car before I freeze and get home! Thanks for pointing me in the right direction!” Stiles turned to the left, and tried to begin walking away before he heard Derek call, “Don’t be an idiot!”

“What?” Stiles turned back to the boy, an inquisitive look on his face.

“You won’t make it back before you get hypothermia. My house is right over there. Come with me and we can dry your clothes and then I’ll take you to your car.”

“No,” Stiles said a bit too abruptly, covering, “I have to get back, because my dad will be missing me and I can’t make him worry.”

“C’mon,” Derek waved his hand and turned, obviously not giving Stiles a choice, “You can use my phone back at the house to call your dad if you really want to. And it’s not gonna take so long that you’ll be missed.” Stiles hesitated, so Derek urged again, “C’mon!”

And Stiles followed. They walked for about two minutes, and they came around a cluster of trees to see a partially lit house. The exterior of the house was patchy at best: there were wooden boards to patch up holes, part of the wood on the side of the house was charred, and the paint was peeling. Stiles’ stomach churned a little bit as he got closer to the house. He heard Derek sigh and had a pang of guilt spread through him. How must seeing his house like this feel for him? Stiles wondered, and his eyes fell to the ground.

When they entered, however, the home felt just like that - a home. Everything felt warm and comfortable. To Stiles, it felt like his home had before his mother had passed away. He smiled, looking at the living room on his right and the kitchen on the right. He took a few steps into the house before Derek’s hand caught him with one hand. “I’ll go grab you some clothes that you can borrow so you don’t freeze. Wait here.”

Derek walked up the main staircase and disappeared into one of the rooms on the second floor. Stiles took his time looking around. The rooms on the bottom floor were in much better shape than the second floor. And when Stiles tried, he could tell that the scent of wet paint was fresh in the air. Laura Hale had obviously gone into full HGTV mode with her renovations. Before Stiles could begin to wander, Derek was running down the stairs with some clothes in his hand and a towel draped over his arm. When he reached Stiles, he spoke,

“So here’s a towel so you can dry off. I have some clothes here, you’re a bit smaller than me, but I think these should fit.” He looked at the clothes, contemplating the red fabric in his hands. Shaking his head, Derek passed the clothes over and pointed to a door. “There’s a bathroom you can change in. Whenever you’re done, I’ll be in the living room.”

“Uh…. thanks.” Stiles took the clothes and walked over to the bathroom. Laura had obviously finished the renovations of the bathroom as the paint job was fresh - a beautiful marigold color. He quickly pulled off his sopping clothes, and wrapped the towel around himself. He hadn't really realized how cold he was when he had been standing in the entrance to the Hale house; now he was freezing.

Once he was dried, Stiles pulled the jeans and the black t-shirt onto his body. They fit well, even though Derek’s shoulders were much broader than Stiles’ and the pants only dragged a bit on the ground. Nothing that could prevent Stiles’ from moving.  He then pulled on a red sweatshirt, with white strings and lining, and zipped it up. The fabric was soft and felt well used, but it smelled clean, like Derek, Stiles realized. And the jacket fit him like a glove.

When Stiles exited the bathroom, he turned into the living room and Derek looked up from the couch he was sitting on. “You look good in red. Different than you normally do.” He said, before standing.

“Yeah, thanks, I mean, you didn’t really have to help me out like this. It’s super nice of you and you barely know me but you’re helping me out like this. It’s pretty amazing, because you’ve just gotten back and I feel like I should have known you all along. Especially before -” Stiles caught himself before he started talking about the Hale fire. “But anyway, yeah, I should probably get going about now. My dad is probably home by now.” Stiles checked his phone (which was thankfully still working) and read that it was nearing eleven at night.

“Okay,” Derek pulled keys from his pocket and headed towards the door. They walked out accompanied by the sound of cracking twigs and crunching gravel. Then Stiles saw what Derek was driving. “Holy shit, dude, you drive a Camaro?” The glistening black camaro was parked just on the side of the house, in flawless condition. Stiles gaped and Derek chuckled a little bit.

“Well, technically, it’s Laura’s - that’s my sister, by the way. But since she doesn’t have a job and I have to go to school, she let’s me use it like it’s mine. Though she gets dibs whenever she wants it.” Derek unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat, Stiles mirroring him with the passenger seat. The interior was all leather, smelling like a new car. Stiles inhaled the scent and shuddered at how amazing this was. Oh my fucking god, Stiles thought as the engine purred to life, sounding smoother than the jeep by far.

“Where’s your car?” Derek asked as they began down the dirt-paved road of the Hale property. Stiles told him and the conversation lulled back into silence. After about thirty seconds, Stiles realized it was his job to maintain conversation.

“So, are you glad to be back?” Stiles asked, honestly interested.

“Mostly I’m glad because it makes Laura happy. And when she’s happy, she’s the best to be around. I don’t really know anyone here, so it’s good to see her happy. Other than that, I guess it’s alright.” Derek had his brow furrowed as though he were deep in thought, or maybe he was just concentrating on the road.

“Well, you know me!” Stiles continued to try to diffuse the awkward, unfamiliar tension.

“True. But I just met you.”

“So what? You had to meet people and get to know them in order to become friends. It’s not like you can just skip that part and get to the friendship. And Beacon Hills isn’t so bad if you know where to go. The Shack has the best curly fries and never go to the movie theatre down by the Community College.” Stiles was rambling, but at least Derek was smiling. Derek just let Stiles speak as they drove. It was nice to have someone who wasn’t your sister around for once. And Derek was drawn to Stiles, partially because he was charismatic and kind, but because of something else.

When they pulled up next to Stiles’ jeep, Stiles slid out with grace before sticking his head back through the door. “Thank you, Derek! I’ll wash these and give them back to you tomorrow!”

“No worries, I never wear them anyway. You can just keep them. They look better on you than they ever did on me.”

Stiles smiled, “Woah… okay!” Stiles just thought about wrapping himself in the redness and warmth of that jacket, “Thanks, Derek.” Stiles almost walked away from the car and was halfway to his jeep, when he shouted back at the camaro, “And come have lunch with me and my friends tomorrow!”

Through the slightly tinted window of the camaro, Stiles could see Derek smile and nod. Then he pulled away from the jeep, leaving Stiles to think about the Hale boy. Something had drawn Stiles to the other boy. As Stiles climbed into the jeep, and as he turned the ignition, he looked up at the moon and wondered what the next days would bring him.

 

Lydia was laying out on her bed, painting her nails a shimmering gold color, after she hung up the phone on Stiles earlier that night. She was sure that Stiles would end up going over to the Hale property and she was fully prepared to get her car and go get him when he messed something up. But she really didn’t have the patience to stand and watch him make another mistake. Like the one he had made in English before the first bell of the year had even rung.

Just as Stiles had been leaning towards her, he had made the blunder of falling on his face in front of Derek Hale. She didn’t have to be a banshee to realize that there was a definite connection between the two. But it had been her banshee intuition that had led her to look for that connection. She had heard the voices in another student’s pencil scratching. They continued to tell her to “watch the connection” and she was just about to tell Stiles what she had heard when she heard the voices say “do not tell him”.

This was one of the most clear occurrences where she had heard the voices. They were very specific when giving her instructions this time, and they normally would give her one word, rather than phrases. It was odd, but maybe it was just her hearing developing. It didn’t really matter, she had decided as she spent the entire English class thinking about this ‘connection’ and how it could change things.

She wondered (as she wondered every day) what Allison would say if she could see what was happening. She wondered what Allison would say about how Scott had become a recluse. She wondered why she was alone all the time and wondered why Allison wasn’t with her. And she wished she could touch Allison, just to tell her goodbye, and tell her she was sorry they couldn’t save her. When Allison had been attacked that night, she had bled out on the ground before Scott, Lydia and Stiles had gotten her to the ER.

It was almost as though she could hear her best friend’s voice. She would pretend that she could hear her best friend telling her that it’s okay. That everything would be okay. But Lydia knew better. She knew that Allison was someone irreplaceable. Lydia sat up on her bed, feeling a sudden wave of sadness wash over her, the realization that she would never touch her best friend again.

Lydia couldn’t even hear the voices at the moment. They usually were always there unless she was asleep. And even then, the really loud voices she could hear in her sleep. But they were silent. She stood, from her bed, straightening her skirt and walking to her armoire and pulled open the doors. She pulled the locket Allison had given her from the jewelry box and held it in front of her face. The small arrow swung before her eyes and she pulled it around her neck. And the whispers were back.

They were murmuring, as they always were. Saying things she could not quite make out. Things she couldn’t quite seem to hear. It was similar to smelling something that brings back memories, but you can’t exactly remember what you were smelling. It was a sort of haze. Lydia took a moment to listen, resting her forehead against the now closed armoire. As she listened, like always, the volume of the murmurs began to increase.

This is where things began to change. Instead of a constant murmuring from a thousand voices, one voice began to take prominence, the others receding back to their whispering mumbling. Lydia listened: still the voice was indiscernible. It was chanting though, she could tell. It kept repeating a phrase on a beat: One syllable, break, one syllable, break, one syllable, break, two syllables, restart.

One syllable, break, one syllable, break, one syllable, break, two syllables, restart. One syllable, break, one syllable, break, one syllable, break, two syllables, restart. One syllable, break, one syllable, break, one syllable, break, two syllables, restart.One syllable, break, one syllable, break, one syllable, break, two syllables, restart. One syllable, break, one syllable, break, one syllable, break, two syllables, restart. One syllable, break, one syllable, break, one syllable, break, two syllables, restart. One syllable, break, one syllable, break, one syllable, break, two syllables, restart. One syllable, break, one syllable, break, one syllable, break, two syllables, restart. Over and over, and Lydia could feel the scream building in her throat. She could feel the monotony of the phrase getting to her.

Slamming her fists against the wooden doors of her armoire, she held back the building scream, not wanting to release it unless absolutely necessary. She pinched her eyes shut to help her focus on listening. One syllable, break, one syllable, break, one syllable, break, two syllables, restart.One syllable, break, one syllable, break, one syllable, break, two syllables, restart. One syllable, break, one syllable, break, one syllable, break, two syllables, restart. Look, break, one syllable, break, one syllable, break, two syllables, restart. One syllable, break, one syllable, break, one syllable, break, two syllables, restart.

Lydia opened her eyes. She had heard the word. Just one word. Look. But where? Where the hell was she supposed to look? And for what? She pulled open the doors to the armoire but saw nothing. She willed her eyes to see something that just was not there. The voice grew louder and she refocused again on listening, but this time, listening for the source. She followed the sound, letting it get louder. It was coming from her handbag, but when she picked it up the sound dispersed. Now more than ever, Lydia wanted to scream. She threw the bag on her bed.

The noise returned, and she turned back to the blank wall against which her bag had been leaning. All she noticed was a small outlet, one plug only. She got down on her knees and pushed her ear against the wall, listening. As she approached the outlet the voice returned, finally becoming clear. One syllable, break, one syllable, break, one syllable, break, two syllables, restart. Look, break, in, break, the, break, closet, restart. Look, break, in, break, the, break, closet, restart. Look in the closet.

Standing, Lydia began to make her way over to the closet, slowly, wary of what may be inside. She reached for the door handle as though there was an electric current that would shock her when she gripped the handle. At first, when she pulled the door open, she believed the closet to be empty; however, she noticed a small figure, in the back corner, that appeared to be shivering. Lydia stepped forward, as if she knew what was to come, though she was as unsure about the situation as anyone.

In the corner was a girl, all dressed in black, with long black hair and pale skin. Her face was covered and she was pushing her body back into the corner. As Lydia approached, she could hear the girl muttering words: “I can hear them all. They’re screaming. Screaming, they’re screaming. They’re all screaming. They’re in pain. Somebody help them. The moon is out of alignment. The moon is out of alignment. I must align it. The moon is out of alignment. The moon must be put back.”

The girl froze as Lydia got halfway into the closet. She closed her mouth but soon enough the shaking continued to perforate the girl’s skin. Lydia continued to move forward, slowly, pacing herself until she reached the girl. Extending her hand as a gesture of comfort, Lydia closed the gap and put her hand on the girl’s shoulder (which was the closest part to Lydia). As if triggered, the girl spun around and grabbed Lydia’s wrist, making direct eye contact with Lydia. The scream burst from her lips, uncontrolled and terrified: the girl was Allison.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit more of the story. This chapter is kinda Lydia lacking, but we'll get back to that, I promise!!!

 

Chapter 2:

 

Allison held onto Lydia’s arm, looking into her eyes with the same look she got when she was confronted with the death of her mother. When the scream no longer forced itself from Lydia’s lips, her voice was shaking, in a strange mixture of confusion, awe, and fear. I’ve lost it. She found herself thinking. She was horrified at the sight before her, but all she wanted to do was hold her best friend close to her chest. She wanted to run, but to take Allison with her; to never let her go again.

“Allison?” Lydia asked, hoping for no reply. Hoping that her mind was simply playing tricks on her. “Allison?

“Lydia,” Allison’s voice was distinctly her, but it was airy, breathy, and a little higher pitched than Lydia remembered. “Lydia, it’s dark in here. Where did they go?”

“Where do who go, sweetie?” Lydia spoke carefully, as though she were speaking to a child, and she knelt down onto the carpet to better look at Allison.

Allison looked back and forth as though someone were in the closet with them, “The voices.” She had almost whispered the words. Lydia paused for a moment, thinking. The voices had gone away when she had screamed.

“Don’t worry, the voices are gone. They won’t be coming back.”

“But what about what they were saying?!” Allison turned to grab Lydia’s hands, gripping tightly. “They needed my help. They needed me.”

“Okay, sweetie,” Lydia felt wary of the anxiety Allison was showing, “Well, why don’t you tell me what happened, then I’ll help you.”

“You’ll help me?” Allison seemed to relax when Lydia had offered, so she continued to offer help.

“Of course I’ll help you.” Lydia encouraged, seeing the tears finally stop falling from Allison’s eyes. “Now, what happened?”

“They were in pain. Something was wrong in the balance. The balance was off.” She paused. “It was the moon. The moon was out of alignment. We have to fix it. We have to send the moon back home.”

“Allison, the moon is already in the sky. It’s where it’s supposed to be.”

“Not all of it.” She twitched, as though some loud noise had startled her, “It’s been out of alignment for so long. And we must put it back in it’s place. We must return the moon before it can run away from us again. It can’t be like this.”

“Okay,” Lydia was trying to roll with the strangeness of the night, “How do we do it?”

“Listen, Lydia.” They both paused, Lydia hearing nothing. “But we cannot tell anyone, or the moon will get away.” Then Allison looked directly at the wall, and her eyes grew wide. She looked back at Lydia quickly. “Remember, listen, Lydia. But don’t tell anyone. Don’t tell them anything.”

There was a tremor growing across Allison’s skin. “Lydia, I’m so sorry. Do this for me. Make it right. Please. Please, listen.” The tremor grew and grew, making Lydia take a step back, rising to her feet. And like a great gust had blown through the room, the door to the closet slammed closed, plunging the entire space into pitch darkness. Lydia squeaked, fumbling for the light in the darkness, feeling the switch and igniting the room.

Allison was gone. The wall was blank, as though the girl had never even been here. Lydia paused for a moment, thinking that maybe the stress of returning back to school had caused her a small mental break. I’ll forget all of this by morning. Allison’s dead. Remember, she’s gone and no matter how much you miss her, she’s not here. She never will be here. Lydia tried to logically argue with herself, but her heart still felt that Allison had been present. No matter how much she wished nothing had happened.

“I just need some sleep, and then I’ll be ready for tomorrow. Catching up on sleep will do me good. Right.” She was speaking aloud to herself, because for some reason, that made it feel much more believeable. And just like that, she pulled off her clothes and pulled on something more comfortable. Then she slid herself into bed.

Feeling the adrenaline drift from her system, her eyes began to flutter. Something about the events of the night had made her more tired than any other banshee related event before. As her eyes were closing, she thought she saw someone standing in her room, but fatigue prevented it from being too clear. And the last sound she heard before falling into a deep sleep was a voice, saying, “Remember to listen, Lydia.”

 

Stiles awoke with a grin on his face. He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d been dreaming about, but he knew it had been good. He thought back on the previous night, trying to dissolve the blur of events to take in every moment. Recalling the moment when Derek smiled in his Camaro, Stiles’ heart jumped a beat. It did not go unnoticed; Stiles looked down at his front, feeling partially betrayed by his own body.

It wasn’t that he was attracted to Derek, not to say that Derek was unattractive. In fact, Derek was a very sexual and beautiful being who… Stiles shook his head, setting his face at a resting position as he climbed into the shower to wash the residue of the previous night off of his skin. He would have sworn he’d felt a twig somewhere behind his knee, but it may have just been a pine needle.

Stiles dried himself, trying to focus on his day. He’d somehow managed to get his homework done in the small half hour of time between eleven thirty and midnight, when he’d crashed upon his bed, without even pulling back the covers. Looking in the mirror, Stiles ran his fingers through his hair a few times, causing his typical quiff to look a bit more ruffled than normal. It wasn’t like he cared, really, unless someone cared.

He pulled a gray shirt with the Captain America logo over his bare chest and went to grab his bag, pausing a moment. He reached to his bed and pulled the red sweatshirt around his figure, zipping the zipper half way up his chest, so the Captain America logo still showed a little bit. Stiles then pulled his bag over one of his shoulders and dashed from the room, taking the stairs two at a time, sliding into the kitchen. His dad had written a note, saying he’d be back by the time Stiles got home from school so they could have dinner together.

Stiles nodded to himself as he walked out to his jeep and swung up into the driver’s seat. The drive to school was uneventful save for the asshole who pulled in front of Stiles as he tried to park. This meant that Stiles had to park in the far lot (a second lot that the school had added as a new edition when enough students had paid for parking), which partially pissed him off. He was grumbling, bitterly, until he saw a pitch black Camaro parked in one of the farther spots.

Smirking to himself, Stiles pulled a quick turn and parked one spot away from the Camaro, just in case Jackson Whittemore’s parents had bought him a new car again and it wasn’t Derek’s. Some sort of planetary alignment must have happened in Stiles’ favor, because just as Stiles put the jeep in park, Derek slid from the driver’s seat. And out of the passenger’s seat slid a thin, but curvy girl.

She was stunning: her hair was loosely braided, reaching about a quarter of the way down her back. Her eyes were almost cat like and they held a certain mystery to them, which Stiles couldn’t quite understand. She was dressed in skinny jeans, a crop top and wedge heels. Her lips were painted a pale pink, the perfect shade to counter her tan skin. Stiles felt a double hit to his stomach, part jealousy, and part anger.

As if the girl had been aware of Stiles’ mood, she turned to look at the jeep before giving a smirk to Derek. Derek, seemingly oblivious to Stiles’ rage looked up to see the jeep and gave Stiles a wave. The wave quickly turned to a beckon, as though Stiles was supposed to join him and the girl as they power-couple-walked their way into the school. But, he knew there was no easy out to the situation, so he climbed out of his jeep and walked around the back.

“Morning,” he attempted to say to the pair of them, trying to be cooler than he could ever possibly pull off.

“Hey,” Derek responded, looking Stiles up and down, “And I was right, you do look better in red than I thought last night.”

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat again and he silently cursed himself. The girl next to Derek snickered a little bit. Stiles turned on her, “Hi there, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Stiles Stilinski, son of the Sheriff.” Stiles held out his hand.

She shook his hand with a confident and strong grip. “Hello, Stiles, I’m Derek’s sister, Cora Hale.” Stiles felt like an idiot. She’s his sister, oh my god, Stiles moaned to himself. And as he looked at Cora, he knew she could tell every thought that had passed through his head in the past five minutes. He willed his face not to turn a flushed, pink color, and for once his face complied.

Cora turned to Derek, giving Stiles a break from her knowledgeable scrutiny, “Der, I’m headed off to class. See you at the end of the day.”

Stiles tried to make amends for his earlier anger, “Oh Cora, why don’t you join us for lunch?”

“Thanks, Stiles, you’re a real sweetie,” She smiled, actually seeming genuine, “but I’ve got the earlier lunch, so unless Derek is okay with me skipping Biology, I can’t quite join you.”

“Aw, well, if your class is cancelled for some reason…” He let the sentence hang there as she smiled at him, winked, and started to head to her class. At her departure, Stiles turned back to Derek, pointing to the jacket and giving him a delayed, “Thanks.”

“No problem. I’m guessing you got home safely enough?” Derek said, smirking the same smirk he had used multiple times the day before. Stiles’ heart was acting up again and he wished he could surreptitiously bang his chest into submission. Stiles nodded, quickly changing the subject to classes, “Ready to go?” It was Derek’s turn to nod this time.

They walked side by side all the way across the parking lots, up the stairs and through the main doors of the high school. The hallways, as always, were packed to the brim with people, some in states of disrepair, some only half awake. Derek and Stiles wound their way through the throngs of people, walking directly to the classroom and assuming their seats from the previous day.

As Stiles pulled his Mythology book from his bag, Derek looked over and raised an eyebrow. “You like to read?”

Stiles looked at Derek, then at the book, before smiling, “Uh… well, not really. I just find this mythology stuff to be far too applicable to my life to ignore.”

Derek glanced over, squinting for a second, before nodding, “I couldn’t agree more.” Derek let out a huge sigh, propping his head up with his hand. This time it was Stiles’ turn to squint, partially out of confusion. Did he just say what I think he said? Stiles wondered before thinking. Nah, it’s just the life lessons in the stories. That’s it.

Now Stiles settled himself back in his chair, making the metal frame creak a bit under his weight (which was nothing over average), and looked in front of him. Though he had not been in this classroom for long, he still felt very unnerved. There should have been a beautiful cascade of fiery hair before him, yet there was only empty air. Stiles pulled out his phone as the clock clicked closer to the first bell, and he texted Lydia:

 

Hey, you ok? Where are you? I haven’t gotten my daily eye roll ;)

 

He put his phone in between his legs and tried to relax in his seat for the few minutes of solace he would have before his day began. But something in the back of his mind - an altogether different something than what had bothered him the day before - was telling him to be aware. He felt nervous for some reason, and he was highly sure the reason was Lydia’s missing presence.

Soon enough, class began, and there was no red mane before him. Aside from feeling exposed, he checked his phone every other minute just to make sure he hadn’t missed a message from Lydia. Thankfully, Stiles didn’t seem to need to pay much attention. They were mainly going over the relationships between the different Roman and Greek gods and goddesses. Stiles had taken it upon himself to use the chalkboard his dad kept in the attic to create a ‘family tree’ of sorts for the gods and goddesses, mainly so he could figure out his placement in the supernatural world according to his mother.

The entire class went by slowly, dragging on until the bell to signal the end of the period rang. Stiles practically sprang from his seat and put his phone to his ear. With five minutes to spare in class, he had preemptively dialed Lydia’s number and the call had gone to voicemail. “Lydia,” Stiles spoke quickly and hushed, “where are you, beautiful? I hope you aren’t sick. If something’s happened, ya know - with your ears - let me know. I wanna be as helpful as possible. Text me. Love you.”

He hung up the call and spun around to head to his next class only to be confronted with Derek. “Hey, you okay? You were checking your phone like every minute all class long. Something up?”

“No, man,” Stiles said, adjusting his voice so it didn’t sound too fake, “I just wanted to see if Lydia was okay. I just didn’t hear from her this morning and she didn’t show up to class, so I didn’t know…” Stiles let the sentence drop with a shrug.

“Oh, well okay, that makes sense. You’d probably want to know where your girlfriend is… anyway, I’m off to class.” Derek almost walked through Stiles to head off to class.

“Wait a damn minute!” Stiles grabbed Derek’s shoulder, turning him around, “Lydia is like the most beautiful woman on the face of the planet, and she’s a genius, but she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Oh really?” Derek looked like a puppy who just was told he could go run free. His voice was a bit too eager.

“Hey now, don’t sound so glad that Lydia’s single! She’s still my best friend, and even with you, I have to charge my honor.” Stiles puffed out his chest, attempting (and failing) to make himself seem bigger than he really was.

Derek laughed, poked Stiles’ chest and tossed him a knowing look. “Don’t worry about me getting in the court of Lydia. I have my eyes set on someone else.” Stiles felt his heart flutter and jump a few times with jealousy. “Have a good class, bud.”

“See you at lunch, Derek.” Stiles felt defeated, as though the wind he had used to puff up his chest had been pulled out of his lungs and could not be replaced. Derek wants someone else. It’s okay, it wasn’t really gonna work out. Stiles thought before he thought, Wait… oh shit, I’m mad crushing on Derek Hale! He pulled his phone out again:

 

Lyds, on a completely different note: I’m in love with Derek Hale and he doesn’t love me back so that sucks. Hope you’re ok! Lub you!

Stiles walked off to his next class, wishing he could melt into nothingness, still concerned for Lydia’s well being.

 

By lunchtime, Lydia still had yet to respond, and Stiles had determined that he would ambush her at home once the school day ended. He had already spoken to a few of her teachers and gotten her homework (they had made a pact to do so for one another in case they missed class). He was also seething. He couldn’t quite keep his anger in when he sat down across from Scott and Danny, who were working on a project. They weren’t good conversationalists and Stiles felt relief when Derek slid into the table next to Stiles.

“Still no Lydia?” He asked, glancing at Stiles’ sour face.

“Yeah, she’s silent as a snake.” Stiles pursed his lips and stabbed his undercooked potatoes with his fork. “But I’m going over there after school, so I’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Derek nodded and made a noise of semi-discontent, pursing his lips into a thin line. Stiles notice and looked over at him, “What’s up with you?”

“Oh nothing,” Derek’s brow creased, “I was just going to see if you wanted to come over and maybe help me with the mythology family trees. But you need to check on Lydia, so that makes sense.”

Stiles felt his stomach flutter, “Yeah! I mean, I have to check on her, but you can come with and then we can go to my house or to your house and we can go over how they fit in with one another. I have this list of the different gods and goddesses and how they fit together with the humans. I think it’s a lot easier when you put the humans and people from our stories into the context of the gods so that they don’t stop relating to the book and what we actually need to know for class, and -” Stiles realised he was ranting and closed his mouth.

Derek laughed, “Well, okay then. I have to take Cora home, unless she’s doing something with someone,” he rolled his eyes, “I don’t even know with her.”

“So maybe we just meet up somewhere? We could-”

“How about my house?” Derek cut him off, making Stiles smile. It was like Derek knew exactly the best way to interact with Stiles, especially when he started to ramble. Stiles felt his cheeks turning red, “Your house. Good.” Stiles returned to his fruit cup, feeling a wave of awkwardness splash over him. He could have sworn he’d heard a little snicker from Scott, but he refused to look up.

 

After school, Stiles got to his jeep and noticed the Camaro was already gone. He turned the ignition and after a bit of prompting, the engine turned over and he was racing all the way to Lydia’s house. When he knocked on her door, her mother answered, opening the door wide and just letting him in. He gave her a quick up before racing up the stairs (she had grown accustomed to him showing up unannounced after the past summer).

Stiles rapped his knuckles on Lydia’s door. After a second knock, he pushed into the room. Lydia was there, laying across her bed, dead asleep. He walked over to her, carrying the stack of paper that was Lydia’s greek homework. He placed his hand on her shoulder and she jumped, as though shocked. She looked at him in confusion with an expression that read ‘what the hell is a Stiles and what is he doing in my room?’

Stiles looked at her as she tried to focus on his face before clarity came to her. “Stiles, like, what the hell?”

“Lyds, like, what the hell?” He mocked her. “You didn’t show up today and you didn’t respond to my messages and calls.” She reached over to her nightstand and grabbed her phone. She looked at the screen and then at the time and her eyes flew wide.

“Damn it! I missed greek today!” Stiles took the easy segue and passed her the paper. She looked at it, then up at him, “You’re wonderful.”

“I know. Anyway, back to the ‘you not being at school thing.” Stiles sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked at her to fulfil his request (even though it wasn’t really a request).

“I guess I was just tired,” Lydia lied, knowing full well she’d had to sleep off the banshee related incidents of the previous night. “I don’t really know. I guess I forgot to set an alarm. It’s okay.” She shook her head, still looking exhausted. “I may be coming down with something. I don’t really know.”

“You sure you’re okay.” Stiles couldn’t argue with her because he would lose, but he still didn’t feel good about the situation. “Promise me.”

Lydia smiled at him, “Yeah, I’m fine. You go do whatever you were about to do.” Stiles looked at her questioningly, wondering how she knew he had something to do. She shook her head a bit before explaining, “Sweetie, you really need to learn to have less expression in your face. Go get him.”

Stiles’ mouth fell open. “Lydia, what the hell?”

“It was obvious, and I can tell it’s mutual.” Lydia said, rubbing her eyes as though she was commenting on the weather for the week. Stiles squinted at her in disbelief. Lydia was a banshee, he knew that, but she was also known to be wrong sometimes. He thought to himself.

“I’m not wrong about this.” She said, as though she were in his head, which for a moment, he believed she totally could do. Maybe. “Now go, I said I’m fine.”

Stiles stood, still looking at her with that face. She waved her hand, nodding at him and he turned to go. When he reached the door, he turned back, and looked at her, “You know, you’re incredible.”

He slipped from the house with a quick wave to Mrs. Martin and he was driving down the street before he even registered the fact that she had said “It was mutual”. His mind exploded with ideas, was it true? Was she kidding him? Did she know something he didn’t? What the hell, Lydia?! That’s not fucking fair!!!

Stiles was driving quickly, trying to get to the Hale house as fast as possible. As he turned the curve on the main road, as he neared the Hale property, he looked over at the spot where he had parked his jeep the previous night. He felt a bit sheepish, then smiled to himself as he thought of the way Derek had smiled when Stiles had left him. He turned onto the gravel road leading up to the Hale house, hearing the road noise change. He sighed, more confused about Lydia than he had been before going to her house.

He made the first turn around the gravel road, then he heard a clunk. He jumped, looking down at the dashboard, growling, “Shit.”

 

Derek was standing in the kitchen, watching Laura install a cabinet set, similar to the one which had previously been burned down in the fire. He had dropped Cora off at a friend’s house (because for some reason, she had already been able to scale the social system of Beacon Hills high) and had raced home to give Laura a heads up.

“Laura,” he said, somewhat hesitantly. He didn’t know why he felt so nervous, but he kept his heart rate in check so he didn’t give anything away.

“What’s up, Der?” She was still focussed on getting a screw into the upper corner. One foot in the air, her balance was completely dependent on the back of a chair she was standing on. If it weren’t for her werewolf reflexes, she would probably have broken half the bones in her body. But even if she did fall, it would probably do more damage to the wood floors.

“So I have a friend coming over today. To work on some mythology homework.”

Laura began to laugh, a full bodied laugh, that shook the chair precariously. As she laughed, she was able to wiggle the screw into place and twisted it in with her fingers, using her strength instead of a drill. When she finished, she hopped down and walked over to him, leaning against the wall across from him. “Is this the one who was here last night? The one you thought I wouldn’t notice. The one whose scent is all over the bathroom over there?”

Derek felt his face turning crimson, and she patted him on the shoulder. “Also, Der, don’t think you can hide your heartbeat from me. I’m your sister and you alpha. I just get to know these things. Anyway, I’m glad you’re uh…” she paused, “making friends.” And then she was laughing again, setting down the extra screws on the table and picking up the paintbrush. “I’ll be here, just painting away at this ugly ass kitchen.”

“Okay, thanks.” Derek felt unbearably awkward, but he could smell her amusement. He started to walk away from the kitchen, but she yelled after him, “And no sex in my Camaro!!” He heard her laugh as his face bloomed red. He muttered a quick, “Shut up.”

“Hey!” She came chasing after him, sticking her head around the corner as he was three steps up the stairs. When he stopped, she came up to him. “I’m actually really happy you’ve found someone. Our pack is small, and the best way to increase them is to find mates.”

“He’s not my mate.” Derek shook his head, but her eyebrows raised.

“Is that so? Well, do you get the feeling you can’t control your emotions when you’re around him? Do you get the feeling that when you two have to part you may possibly die?”

“No!” Derek rashly half-shouted.

“You can’t lie to me, Der.” Laura smiled and laughed again at him. “I’m the alpha.”

Derek felt his face going red again, so he climbed the stairs as fast as he can, reaching the top of the stairs and dashing into his room. His breathing had increased. Laura had been right, he did feel all those things, but he wasn’t sure exactly how she knew these things. Or why this stupid, awkward, ignorant, loud, smart, funny, cute… OH GOD NO! Derek slammed his fist on the wall and growled a little bit.

He could feel the wolf inside of him pining for the boy who wore his red sweatshirt. He really hated that Laura had been right and that only infuriated him more. He didn’t want to feel this way, but he did. And it wasn’t as though he was unable to tame himself. He hated this feeling of losing control.

And then he heard the sound of a jeep turning onto the road leading up to the Hale house. He heard the sounds of the jeep’s engines and he felt it soothing his anxiety. He heard it make the first turn, then he heard the clunking sound, and he faintly heard Stiles mutter a few curses under his breath. He squinted, and when he heard the sound of crunching metal, he jumped.

Running down the stairs, he matched each step with a resounding, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” He flew out the door as Laura stood there and looked at him with questioning eyes. She obviously hadn’t been listening.  He raced down the path, running as fast as he could to get to the lower part of the path. It only took him about a minute to reach the place where Stiles’ jeep had slid off the road.

He got there, and stared at the road. There was a chunk of metal that was laying in the middle of the road, and Stiles’ jeep was in a ditch. He ran straight to the jeep and got up next to the driver’s seat. Stiles was sitting in the driver’s seat, pulling on the seat belt, a little bit of blood running from his temple where he had hit his head. He looked over when Derek’s face appeared in the window. “Derek?” He looked confused for a moment, then calmed, “Can you get me out of here?”

Derek felt sick, seeing Stiles’ face dripping blood. He nodded and ran back from the window. He went to the rear bumper and took hold, pulling with all his strength, he felt the metal bend, but the jeep slowly came with him. He pulled the jeep from its space in the ditch and slid it onto the road. Without thinking, he ran back to the driver’s seat and pulled open the door. Stiles’ face was slightly horrified, the horror only intensifying when Derek ripped the seat belt and pulled Stiles from the jeep.

Derek placed Stiles on his feet and immediately, Stiles took a few steps back, eyeing Derek warily. Derek then took notice and his eyes grew wide. From the yard of distance between the two, Derek could see Stiles’ shaking, smell the anxiety, and hear the rattling breaths coming from the boy’s mouth. Stiles was giving him a look of complete confusion, but confidence in what he had just seen. Derek tried to take a step forward, but froze when Stiles spoke.

“What the fuck was that?!” Stiles pointed at Derek, his arm shaking, but his eyes defensive. “What the fuck did you just do? That’s not possible, that’s not. You can’t do shit like that. It’s not... “ Stiles was breathing rapidly, and Derek could hear his heart rate increasing quickly.

“Stiles, calm down. Jesus Christ, breathe!” Derek looked over at Stiles and saw the other boy’s face go white, “Just calm down and I’ll explain.”

“Explain… what?!” Stiles took a moment to catch his breath between words, “What the hell can you explain that justifies that?! Adrenaline?” Stiles gave a haughty laugh. Then the laugh continued to hyperventilate.

“Stiles. Please, calm down and come up to the house, my sister Laura can explain it all. We can fix your jeep and you never have to talk to me again. Just breathe.”

Stiles wasn’t listening. The panic attack was setting in deeply now and he had lost complete control of his breath. He felt the world begin to spin and he only continued to panic. The last sight he saw before his eyes went black was Derek running forward.

 

Stiles awoke with a jolt, breathing heavily. A hand rested itself, firm but feminine on his chest, easing him back down on the couch where he lay. He calmed his breathing and let the hand push him back down. The last thing he remembered was Derek pulling him from the car, and the adrenaline even made that memory hazy. His eyes darted around the Hale’s living room, resting on the face that he did not recognize.

She had flowing black hair, the same green eyes he thought of when he thought of Derek, and a warm face. She looked inviting and warm. For some reason, Stiles had a flashback of his mother’s face. Warm and comforting. She opened her mouth to speak, “Hello there Stiles. Don’t try to sit up just yet, you’re a bit disoriented from the crash and the events afterwards. It’s okay, don’t speak yet.” Stiles didn’t even think of disobeying.

“Now, I’m sure you’re a bit confused about what you saw. So just listen to me for a while, I’m going to make everything a bit more clear. Alright?” Stiles nodded. “Okay, so let’s get started. Now, I know you’re in Derek’s English class, so you must be familiar with the mythologies. Now tell me, did you ever read about the story of Lycaon of Arcadia?”

Stiles shook his head and she continued.

“Well, let me tell you the story. King Lycaon of Arcadia was a very interesting king. He was jealous of the gods, and he liked to challenge their authority. He served Zeus, the king god, as the highest god. Even though he respected Zeus, there was a challenge he presented to Zeus. Let me explain: Zeus came to a feast in Arcadia, gracing Lycaon with his presence. However, Lycaon took the opportunity to test Zeus’ omniscience. Lycaon served Zeus roasted flesh, causing Zeus great anger. And in his anger, Zeus turned Lycaon and his lineage into wolves.”

Stiles gave her an incredulous look. What the hell was she trying to pull off here? He thought he could get with her logic, but it made no sense. She continued quickly.

“And as the years have gone on, Lycaon’s line learned how to act and look like humans again. They learned to control the animal curse they had been given. They turned Zeus’ curse into a blessing. They learned that they could control the animal most of the time, save for the full moon. It was possible for them to live as people again.

“And the line of Lycaon continued to grow and grow, many through births, and many through the process called conversion. It began with Lycaon - the first alpha wolf. He had the ability to turn others to his cause, by using his curse to curse others. This is what we call the bite. It will turn any human into one of us. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Stiles?”

Stiles nodded, still unsure whether he believed it. He felt a bit confused, but as he knew his own mythology, he didn’t want to throw away this story. It may not be exactly true, but the result may be the same. Laura continued, “But as the lineage expanded, there was a need for more rulers, more alphas. So the lineage split into what we call packs. Like wolf packs. And alphas have their territory and their packs. They are the control within their territory. Still with me?”

Stiles nodded again. She looked him in the eyes. “So, quick question, Stiles, just to make sure you understand. What are we?”

Stiles looked at Laura, then pushed himself up. She did not stop him. He put his foot on the floor, keeping his eyes on one spot for a moment. When his head had stopped spinning, he looked at Laura from the side of his eye, and whispered, “Werewolf.”

Laura smiled, “Good. Now, you understand why we must keep this a secret. If the knowledge of our abilities were to reach the public, everyone would want our abilities. Everyone would want to use us as a weapon. It would be another war. And we realize that, by the end of the war, humanity would turn against us. Yes we are strong, but we are also highly outnumbered. If our secret got out, it would mean the extinction of our race.”

“I understand.” Stiles said, feeling it appropriate. “So you’re the alpha?”

“Yes. I have a pack of three. Just the three of us. Our family was attacked under the reign of my mother, Talia Hale, and most of our pack was burned alive. But we have come back to reclaim our land, and I, as alpha, will see to it. Personally.” She smiled.

“So, what I saw out there was Derek… being a wolf?”

“Well, pretty much. We are able to harness some of the wolf’s abilities to enhance our sense. We can also enhance our muscles to give us more strength and we can even use our claws, all of this with proper training.”

“You have claws?” Stiles almost wanted to laugh. Laura flicked her hand open and claws plunged out from the center of her fingertips. “Oh, you have claws.” It seemed absolutely normal. Laura smiled, still that warm smile.

“Now, Stiles, can I call Derek in here, or will you yell at him again?” Stiles reddened, but nodded. Derek didn’t even need to be called, as he was waiting just around the corner and had obviously heard everything. He stepped into the room and smiled, a subtle smile, but seated himself on the other side of the room. Laura continued,

“Now, Stiles. Derek had given little hints that he was drawn to you from the moment you two saw each other, and now in meeting you, I can see that there is something about you. Something draws our pack to you, more than normal humans. So, tell us what you are? Are you an emissary?”

Stiles shook his head, and then he began to speak. He didn’t know why he suddenly believed all the wolf nonsense (it was probably the claws), but he began to tell them everything. About his mother, about the mythology, about him. He had nothing to show for it, but he could tell that Laura and Derek were not doubting it. When he got to the part about him and Lydia, he stopped himself. Laura looked at him,

“We know that Lydia’s a banshee. Her grandmother was a very good informant for our parents in their early years.”

They had taken the remainder of his story from him, so for once in his life, he just stopped speaking. Laura looked at him with her warm, maternal smile, then placed a hand on her lap. “Thank you, Stiles. Your secret is safe with us. And as a fellow supernatural creature, know that our house is a safe place for you, as long as you stay on our side.” She stood up, gracefully. “Now, I have to run out to get more paint and wood. Tomorrow I’m redoing the staircase. I’ll leave you two to work it out.” She clapped her hands and pranced out of the room as though nothing serious had been said.

From the other side of the room, Derek rolled his eyes. He had grown accustomed to Laura’s leadership style, but he also recognized that she seemed like a complete fool. Derek stood, walking slowly but assuredly over to the couch. He sat down next to Stiles and looked over at the leaner boy. “Sorry I scared you.”

Stiles looked at his face, then couldn’t contain a laugh. He started laughing at the way Derek tried to shrink himself, making him look like a little kid. At the jingling sound of his laughter, Derek let a small smile come over his face. Stiles took a few breaths to regain his composure after the laughter, then, still chuckling, he looked over at Derek, “So, Laura said that you were drawn to me from the moment you saw me?”

Derek turned instantly crimson and looked away, muttering, “Damn you, Laura.”

And Stiles laughed again, not letting it overtake him, but using it to try to soothe Derek’s spike in anxiety. He scooted closer, closing the distance between the two, then whispered. “You know, you weren’t the only one who was drawn to the other.”

Derek made the same puppy-getting-a-treat face he had earlier at the school and Stiles smiled, putting his hand on Derek’s cheek. “You know, Lydia knew this was going to happen all along.” With that, Stiles leaned over and placed a soft kiss on Derek’s lips. Stiles began to pull away, but Derek put his hand on the back of Stiles’ neck and pulled him in for a deeper, rougher, more passionate kiss.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s front and pushed him into the back of the couch, kissing him more furiously, feeling his heart rate rise quickly. He put his hands on Derek’s side, feeling lean muscle and strong bones. He could feel Derek’s ribs through his tight shirt and it made Stiles’ libido panic. “Oh my god.” Stiles spoke with such passion that Derek almost lost control.

“Stiles, oh, Stiles,” Derek pushed back at Stiles, breathing heavily, and keeping his wolf in check. “Wait a second, wait.”

Stiles slowed down, keeping his mind in control, not letting passion take him over, no matter how much he desired it. “Right, right, sorry.” Stiles realized that he must be going way too fast for Derek and he needed to pull back.

“No,” Derek felt Stiles pulling back, could smell him distancing himself emotionally, “Not that, just... “ he breathed, “we have to go upstairs.”

“Oh, well, okay…” Derek pushed himself against Stiles, their lips crushing again, “Fuuuuuck.”

At his exclamation, Derek picked up Stiles using the power that was rushing his veins from his wolf. He moved as quickly as possible, running up the stairs, and laying Stiles down on his bed. Looking at the boy, who he had desired with all his heart, made Derek growl from the base of his gut. And then he launched himself at - who he now realized was - the love of his life.

Derek ripped the clothes off of his mate’s body, rubbing his hands and kissing his way down the mole covered skin. Breathing in the scent, Derek wished for nothing other than pleasure for his mate. He listened carefully to the moans and heavy breathing Stiles was letting slip from his lips.

Derek paused at the button on Stiles’ jeans. He looked up Stiles’ bare chest and Stiles said, “Claim it, sourwolf.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment and tell me what you think!!! And if you liked the idea of this, you should go follow stilinski-familyfeels.tumblr.com
> 
> It's a great sterek blog, and so much good stuff comes from there!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long!!!! I am writing again, I just had some personal issues to attend to for the last few months but I am back and I'm working for you!!! Thank you all so much for reading! I'm sorry this chapter is short, but I just wanted to get you all something to hold you over until I have more

Chapter 3:

 

Lydia held the photo of Allison and Scott before her face, looking at the smile she would never see again. It wasn’t easy. It never would be easy, looking at her best friend. She even wondered if she would ever see the same smile on Scott’s face again. She doubted that. If she was never going to get over it, then he most certainly wouldn’t.

Putting her lips into a hard line, Lydia set the photo back onto the desk, turning around and stepping into her closet, pulling a top from one of the hangers. She almost didn’t think about how she would look. Almost. She slid her clothes onto her body and walked to her mirror, pulling the lipstick from it’s holder. She began to coat her lips with a ruby red color, before her lights turned off.

“Damn it all,” She cursed, walking over and fondling the lightswitch. She sighed and moved to her window where she couldn’t see any lights in other houses along the street. “Another power outage.” She muttered and shook her head. For years now, the electrical systems through the town had been shady at best, typically plunging her into darkness in early mornings like this.

She reached into one of the desk drawers, pulling a pack of matches from the back corner. They were her emergency package that her mother had put in every room, even though Lydia had tried to protest. From the same drawer, she pulled a small pack of tea candles. She set them near her mirror, hoping they would provide enough light for her to finish her makeup.

There was decent lighting once all candles were lit, so Lydia began to apply her mascara to her eyes. She looked up to get the top lashes thoroughly, and at the moment when she looked back down into the mirror, she gasped. There was a person standing behind her, just out of the reach of the candles. But Lydia, knowing the face all too well, didn’t need to scream or jump.

“Lydia,” Allison croaked, her voice sounding more dry, “I can’t spend much time. I’m not supposed to be here, but I just had to tell you. It’s getting worse on the other side. Things are falling apart because everything is out of balance. I don’t know what will happen if things don’t get back together.”

“Allison, I just don’t know what to do. Nothing about this makes sense.” Lydia then mentally made the decision to talk to Stiles during lunch, take him aside privately or something like that. Everything just felt wrong for some reason.

“Lydia, you can’t tell him.” Allison spoke, making Lydia’s eyes grow wide, “You don’t understand what it will do if this information makes its way around. There are those that would destroy us, ruin our world, or abuse the power of this side. If they hear that we are weak, your world will feel the wrath of the retribution.”

“How did you…?” Lydia cocked her head as she thought she saw movement around Allison’s face.

“There’s no time to explain. I’m sorry. Just remember to listen and follow your instincts.” As Allison spoke, a clawed hand reached around her neck, the other around her mouth. A tear rolled down Allison’s cheek as the hands pulled her back into the darkness. And, as though a window had been left open, a breeze swept the room, blowing the flames from the candles out.

In the darkness, Lydia fumbled for the matches again, cursing herself for not immediately putting it back where she kept them. When she finally was able to find and light the candles, she knew the room would be empty again. She didn’t need to look around, but she still did, just in the hope that she could see her face again. And her hopes were in vain.

 

When she reached the school, she was shaken, a bit more than she had expected to be. She realized now that she couldn't simply push it off as a fluke, but now she knew that she could no longer ignore her best friend. It slightly terrified her that she had to do it all alone. She had no clue as to why she had to do this alone, but she was sure that she couldn’t speak to Stiles or Scott about this. It was just for her.

She didn’t remember walking through the hallways and going to her locker, but she found herself waking in her seat in English, the rest of the room practically empty aside from the few people meandering in and out of the room, dropping their things. She looked around, no one she actually knew and talked to had entered the room yet. She sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and flipping open her Mythology book.

In the book, she looked closely at the writing that she knew she had scribbled. She couldn’t quite remember what she had been writing (she had read this over a month ago), but she looked again now. She noticed that there was a drastic increase in the amount of underlining she had done. Only certain letters were underlined throughout the pages, each page, every page, the entire book.

The more she looked, the more she could tell that the work had been rushed as though she had written it when she was trying to hide from someone. And she noticed that every now and then, the letter “K” was circled, rather than underlined. The more she looked at it, she recognized that there was a pattern, beginning with the letter that was circled.

“K-I-L-L...” she said aloud, just to herself, so that no one else could hear. From that first word, she felt her heart drop, knowing what the message would say, “T-H-E-M-O-O-N-B-E-F-O-R-E-W-E-A-L-L-F-A-L-L.” She was writing the letters as she spoke, on a scrap of paper. “Kill the moon before we all fall.” She gave a slight sigh, feeling tears well up in her eyes at the message. She pushed her lips out a bit and forced the lump in her throat back. If she was to be honest with herself, she was terrified. She was afraid that she was missing something, something that could ruin everything in her life - again.

Lydia sniffed, shaking her hair and head around, pushing the tears back into her ducts, breathing in. ‘It does no good to lose it now. Think, Lydia, think about what you can do to help them. This is for Allison. And for Scott, and Stiles, and Danny and everyone who lives in this world.’ She spoke in her mind with complete logic, talking herself into detachment from her feelings. ‘And you don’t even know what could happen. All you can do is try to help. All you can do is follow the clues. So what do I do?!’ She found herself yelling the last thought at herself.

She looked at the pages, flipping through them one by one, looking at the letters she had underlined, intermittently spaced, hoping to find some other message within these pages. She knew that there was no message that she would find in these pages, but she still looked in vain. She felt the fear slipping from her psyche and the itching feeling of frustration crawling into her thoughts.

Attempting to subdue the range of emotions flushing her head, she huffed her breath and sat back in the desk chair, emptying her mind of everything except her English homework, which she started to translate into greek until Stiles walked in, momentarily followed by Derek. As Stiles passed her desk, he had a little smile on his face and she gave him a knowing look. He flushed a bit pink and scuffled into his seat.

Derek was different, sitting into his seat slowly, lowering himself at an average pace and resting his left foot on his right knee. She glanced over at Derek who had his eyes on his backpack, searching for his notebook and a pen, then turned around and gave the knowing look to Stiles again. Stiles gave her an exasperated look in return and glanced down at his phone. She got the message.

 

Stiles, care to explain? Send.

It’s nothing Lyds. Send.

Don’t pull that with me, sir. Tell me what happened between the two of you, or I could always assume the worst. Send.

Oh my god no. Stop. Send.

I will not, damn it. Tell me what’s going on, or do I need to go listen to your computer monitor hum until someone out there tells me. Send. It was a veiled threat, but he would fall for it, because he didn’t really grasp exactly what she could do.

Lydia, please don’t. Send.

Stiles, please don’t make me. Send.

Fine. Send. We maybe hooked up last night and are a thing. Get off my back. Send.

 

Lydia whipped around, staring at Stiles. She had really only expected a steamy make out session, but she was not about to let something like this go without physical shock. She gave him a look that state, clearly, ‘Stiles Stilinski, you little slut, I can’t believe you did that!’

In return, she earned herself a blushing face, and an embarrassed look that said, ‘Hey, you asked. I didn’t offer the information.” Lydia and Stiles almost simultaneously looked over to where Derek was sitting. He was still not looking at either of them. Currently, he was doodling something on his paper, something that looked like the letter “S”. He didn’t seem to have noticed the conversation that had gone silently between the other two, but the tips of his cheeks were a bit pink.

Smirking to herself, Lydia looked between the other two, boys in love, and she rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe her best friend had hooked up with some guy he barely knew. It was true, she had suspected it would eventually happen, but she also never had thought Stiles to be so loose.

Stiles turned away from Lydia, keeping his eyes away from her scandalized glare and from Derek’s flushed cheeks. He settled on an interesting pattern that was formed in the fake wood of his desk. He puffed his cheeks up with air, then let it out with a soft hissing sound. He tapped his pencil in the awkward silence that ensued when the teacher walked through the door. Stiles was happy he could get out of the situation, never before feeling such relief that he had class.

Once Lydia was satisfied with the lesson and was fully engrossed in whatever they were supposed to be learning, Stiles allowed his eyes to wander over to Derek. He traced the line of his jeans with his eyes, subconsciously licking his lips. When he realized how his mouth had betrayed him, he stuttered and clenched his jaw until it hurt. He had a feeling it was going to feel bruised later.

Stiles kept his mind from wandering (as best he could) while Derek stayed at the safe distance of a desk away. But the lesson was boring. As his foot began to twitch and his ADHD took a bit more control, Stiles couldn’t quite keep his eyes from wandering over to his new found love. He just wished he could rip the boy’s clothes off of his back, push him against a wall and take him right there.

Stiles only was able to refocus his energy when he felt all the blood in his body flood to his groin. He flushed, attempting to cross his legs without anyone noticing. He heard a deep chuckle coming from his right, and he flushed even harder, knowing Derek had noticed. Something about the way Lydia had fidgeted in front of him had made him think that she had noticed as well. He sighed, knowing she wouldn’t let this drop.

Lydia actually had just hunched over her notes, pulling the notebook closer to her being. To everyone else it looked like she was intently writing notes, something she rarely had to do (being practically a genius in every way). But what she actually had put to paper was the same thought she couldn’t get out of her head, the same thought she’d had all morning long. Kill the moon, kill the moon, kill the moon…. and it just went on and on, a litany of the quest set before her. But she still couldn’t figure out how to do it.

What the hell am I doing? She thought to herself, absently scrawling the phrase over and over with her hand. Logic didn’t stop her, though, her hand repeating the motions on one of the last few blank spaces of the page. Before the class was finished, she had three full pages and a cramp in her hand like never before.


	4. Chapter 4

She stood outside of the Hale house, a smirk across her face, pulling the smooth skin taught. The circles around her eyes had only appeared from the long time it had taken her to get here. Beacon Hills was dreadfully north of her beloved Los Angeles. She hated being this far north. But a job was a job, and she was going to get it done, no matter what the cost.

Braeden slipped the knife from her pocket, spinning it around. She could feel the supernatural presence in this house, and it was pushing against her temples like the thumb of God. She would have normally been overwhelmed by the supernatural presence in this town, but she had been properly warned and properly prepared. However, she knew this wasn’t the place to finish her job; her target was not here.

Putting the knife back into its designated place, she turned and began to walk down the gravel road. The crunch of tiny rocks beneath her feet was somewhat satisfying and relaxing at the same time, making her feel like her life had some sense of normalcy and peace from the tempest. But she knew not to get her hopes up: the life of a bounty hunter had her all over the world chasing god-knows-what that was attacking god-knows-where. She sighed, If only they knew the shit I’ve seen.

In this moment, she had to dash off the road and hid herself in the trees just off the path. The sound of heavy tires had alerted her presence to the jeep that soon sped around the corner, causing it to rock back and forth. It was obvious that a teenager was behind the wheel, but as they passed, Braeden could only catch a glimpse of two boys in the jeep. Her target couldn’t be here.

‘The amount of supernatural shit they have in this damn town. No wonder the Calaveras are determined to remove key targets from the area. I’ve already targeted three potential threats in the greater Beacon Hills area. Yet, I haven’t seen my target yet.’ Braeden took a few steps farther from the road, the sound of the jeep fading away, she let the shadow of an exceptionally large tree consume her.

 

When Derek and Stiles got out of the jeep, they beelined straight for the house, almost bumping into one another in the attempt to get inside. Through the entire school day, their libidos had been building and they had no other thought than to tear the other’s clothes off. In a blur, they were up the stairs and the door to Derek’s room was slamming shut.

Stiles felt the other boy’s lips caressing and nipping at his neck before he felt the pressure of the bed beneath him. Their lips and hands moving in quick and passionate succession along each other’s bodies, the temperature in the room seemed to be growing dangerously high. As Derek was nipping and licking all along the skin of Stiles’ neck, he flinched.

There had been a momentary pinch of pain as a sharpened tooth perforated his skin. He could feel a small trickle of blood begin to dribble down to his collar line. Derek pulled back almost instantly, bringing his hand back up to Stiles’ neck to catch the dripping blood. Stiles wasn’t phased, he just looked back at Derek, eyes heavy lidded. What he saw in return was sheer fear. Derek’s lips were pinched into a thin line, his eyes slightly wide with anxiety.

Stiles reached his hand up to Derek’s face, placing it on the side of his face so his thumb rested atop Derek’s lips. He traced the lips with the pad of his thumb for a few circuits before pushing past the crevice, into his mouth. Stiles gently pushed back his lips, revealing his front two teeth, then the left fang, which had grown from the base of the gums, and had a little bit of Stiles’ blood on the tip.

When Stiles ran the nail of his thumb down the length of his tooth, Derek shuddered and a soft growl of pleasure came from the base of his throat. His eyes were still opened wider than normal, tracing each small movement Stiles made. It was these little things, the way his eyes fluttered, his flushed cheeks, the slack lower lip that achingly pulled away from the upper lip. Unknowingly, Derek let his tongue flick out to slide across the space Stiles’ finger had scratched. He could taste something like cinnamon and apples - it tasted like home.

 

Braeden walked along the busy streets of Beacon Hills, pulling her leather jacket around her neck for two reasons: to protect her skin from the breeze and to keep the eyes of onlookers from gaping at the scars. She knew none of them would ever comment on them, but she knew those scars were a pretty prominent identifying feature. And obviously, she couldn’t be identified in her current situation. She took a left into an alley and paused, before backtracking to an old, conspicuous diner on the corner.

 

That night, Lydia’s hand was still aching from her scribbling. After being almost physically unable to write anything other than that god forsaken phrase, she had forced her hand to stop. But her mind was a much more unruly beast to tame. Who the hell is the moon? Wait… what the hell am I even talking about? The moon isn’t even a person, it’s a rock. In the fucking sky.

As night grew deeper, Lydia chose to close her blinds and shut her door so that she would be secluded from the moon itself. She was aware that so much of her paranoia came from the obvious presence of the rock in the sky, so she was attempting to cut it from her mind by physically distancing herself. She sat on her bed and began the mind numbing task of painting her toenails a soft pink color. It didn’t work. Soon thereafter, she had fallen asleep.

Behind her eyelids, visions of Allison tormented her. Like a film on repeat, Lydia watched as Allison stood in a dimly lit room, and from the corner a woman stepped, an ominous, well built woman. Lydia watched in silence as her best friend noticed the woman, then watched as the dark skinned woman pulled Allison into the dark. She couldn’t even force the scream to come out of her lips.

 

 


End file.
